


It's Not Your Fault...

by drowninginchamomiletea



Series: Me gay bmc bois [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Anxious Jeremy, Cause I have gone through that obstacle course, Coming Out, Depressed Michael, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Hit Me Up Bro, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by my experiences with PMS before I started taking evening primrose oil, Let's see how badly I can screw up a slow-burn fic, Light Angst, Michael comes over to surprise him after school, Other, Seriously if you want some tips and tricks for dealing with really bad PMS, Slow Burn, Today on Nova Is Trash For Hurt/Comfort:, Trans Character, Trans Jeremy Heere, Trans Male Character, Trans male Jeremy has really bad PMS, and Michael doesn't know he's not cis male, and coming-outs hurt/comfort and video games ensue, and when Jere stays home from school because of his PMS, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninginchamomiletea/pseuds/drowninginchamomiletea
Summary: There's something Jeremy has never told Michael...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during yesterday's and today's lunches at marching band camp. It hasn't been beta read I hope you like my boys and their hurt/comfort

Jeremiah Heere lay curled up on his bed, moaning with pain, 100% miserable. Due to circumstances completely out of his control, he found himself home sick from school, an ice pack on his abdomen and a cold, damp towel on his head. A trash can sat near his bed as a convenient vomit receptacle, and a pack of saltines sat untouched beside the glass of water on his nightstand, where the vintage '80s-era digital clock read _3:46_. Dust swirled in the shaft of sunlight from the window, which was cracked open to let in some fresh air.

It wasn't like this hadn't happened before. It's just that this was the first time it had kept him away from school for more than one day in a row. Usually, he would just stuff himself with Dramamine and Ibuprofen and numbly plow his way through the school day. Because it would be a complete and utter disaster if someone connected the dots. He never thought he'd survive if someone saw the pattern... If someone noticed that his absences came on a monthly basis.

It had been two years since his menarche, and his premenstrual symptoms had not stabilized or lessened as promised. He was constantly terrified that someone would notice, that—god forbid—Michael would get suspicious.

The doorbell rang. _Probably just UPS or something... They'll just leave it on the porch._

Two more rings, in quick succession. Jeremy's father had gone to work, so he was home alone. There was no way he was standing up without immediately throwing up. _Just gonna have to come back later. Sorry, whoever you are. But I don't think you want me to answer the door right now..._

His phone buzzed repeatedly on his nightstand. He groaned, reaching up to grab it, and squinted at the screen. _Michael_.

"W'sup?" His voice came out as a quiet croak.

"Jesus, dude. You sound terrible. Wanna let me in?"

Jeremy almost retched. _FUCK!_

"N-no?"

"Tch." Jeremy could practically see Michael rolling his eyes. "Guess I gotta let myself in, then. Seeya in a sec," he said, and hung up, cutting off Jeremy's ardent protests.

He quickly looked around his room. _Used pads... All in the lidded trash can. Pad packaging... Shit. In the open trash._ He cast around wildly for a solution, and just as he heard Michael's footsteps pounding up the stairs, he had an idea. He pulled the towel off his head and threw it into the open trash so it covered the papers from the pads.

_Knock knock._

"Yo, dude, you decent in there?"

Jeremy gave a miserable grunt of confirmation, and Michael opened the door.

"Jesus christ, man. You look like absolute _ass."_

"Th-thanks."

Michael gave a pity laugh, and pulled Jeremy's desk chair near to the side of the bed. He sat down.

"So, what's up? You got a bug?"

_Think fast, Heere._

"Y-yeah. Not c-contagious anym-more, but..." He gestured weakly to the vomit can beside him.

"That blows, bro... Here, hang on," he said, picking up and unzipping his backpack. "I got your classwork, but I also got... THIS!" He pulled something out of the bag and held it up triumphantly. It took Jeremy a moment to focus on it, but when he did, his eyes widened to saucers.

"Dude. W- _where_  did you—!?"

"My guy at Spencer's said he was helping clean out his brother's attic, and did I want this box of old junk he found, so of course I said _yes!_ And what did I find at the bottom of the box but _APOCALYPSE OF THE DAMNED 2: CIRCLES OF HELL!!!??!?"_

"H-HOLY _SHIT_ , D-DUDE!! That is s-so awesome!!" He suddenly remembered something and wilted slightly. "We c-can't play it right n-now, though. If I l-look at a screen for m-more than a few s-seconds, I'll probably v-vomit..."

"It's cool, dude. We still have to finish the first one anyways, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Yo, don't look like that. It's not your fault you're sick. Public school, amirite?"

Jeremy gave a nervous titter and desperately grasped for a change of subject.

"S-so what'd I miss in our c-classes?"

"One sec," Michael said, diving back into his backpack. He pulled out a sheaf of paper. "Review, review, review... Uh, we watched a documentary about the Battle of Shiloh in US History... Not much, really," he concluded.

"Good. I d-don't think I can handle having to c-catch up."

"Yeah, you don't look like you can." Michael stared at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "You've gotten sick really often since, like, freshman year."

 _Shit_.

"You didn't used to get sick this easily, right?"

 _Fuckfuckfuck_.

"It seems like you come down with a stomach bug, like... Once a month?"

_FuCK!?! SHIT_

"Pff, what, you got PMS or something?"

_SHIIIIIT SHITSHIT_

"Bro, say something. You're freakin' me out a little here, Jere."

"S-sorry. You just—" He cut himself off before he got into even deeper quicksand. "S-sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. Just wondering."

"Okay."

"Oh, hey, I also brought an audiobook," Michael added offhandedly. He looked around, pulling a box from his backpack. "CD player is...?"

"On the dresser."

"Ah." He stood and walked over to the device, pulled out the first folder of CDs, and extracted disc one from its place. Setting it into the player and clicking the lid shut, he pressed play and sat back down. A vaguely familiar harpsichord and flute melody started up, overlaid by a British man's voice, and Jeremy smiled weakly.

"Harry Potter? Which one?"

"Goblet of Fire," Michael answered, grinning. "Basically have this one memorized by now." He fell silent, leaning back in the chair, and let Jim Dale's voice wash over them.

_"Chapter One: The Riddle House. The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it 'the Riddle house,' even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there..."_

.•∴✬•☆•✬∴•.

It was about 5 in the evening. Michael had gone downstairs to grab a glass to pour his Crystal Pepsi into. While he was in the kitchen, the front door opened.

"Oh, Michael! Evening, son."

"Hello, Mr. Heere."

The balding man placed a plastic bag down on the kitchen table and rummaged around in it. He pulled out two bottles of pills and a small cardboard box.

"Could you bring these up to Jeremy for me, please? Tell him I thought I'd pick up the evening primrose oil while I was at the drugstore getting the Dramamine and Ibuprofen... It should do him some good. He should take two of them daily."

"Of course," Michael said, taking the bottles and box in his hands. He carried those items and his glass back upstairs.

"Hey, Mike," Jeremy said, yawning.

"Oh, you're up," Michael observed, smiling at his friend and unloading the contents of his arms onto the nightstand. "Good. Your dad just got home; he brought you some drugs."

"Drugs. Awesome."

"He said to tell you he just thought he'd pick up the evening primrose oil while he was at the drugstore, and that it should do you some good. And that you should take two daily."

"Oh, yeah, he mentioned that the other day... Thanks, bro."

"'Course. So, what's the flower oil for?"

 _Fuuuuhuhuhuhuhuuuck_.

Jeremy felt his face and neck turning uncomfortably hot.

"Uh... Stuff?"

Michael frowned, a trace of worry visible in his eyes.

"You okay? Something I should know about...?"

"It's fine, I'm just—" _Biologically female!? Yeah, it's not like I can just say that. Oh, yeah, by the way, sorry we've been friends for over a decade and it just SLIPPED MY MIND to tell you, but I'm not what you think I am!_ "...um."

"Um?"

"Aauuuhhhmmmm....???"

"Pfffbbbbb... So, what is it?"

He sat up slowly, so as not to upset his delicate stomach, and continued clutching the ice pack to the space below his bellybutton. He winced at the aching muscles in his lower back. Was this it? Was now the moment? Was today the day he finally admit his lie? _No. It's not a lie. I AM male. I am a trans guy. Have I ever straight-up told him that I'm physically male...? No, I don't think so... That means I've never lied to him about my gender. So then, why does it feel like I've been lying to him for the past twelve years?_

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and spoke.

"P-PMS. It's for PMS."

"Oh, so I got it right, did I?" Michael laughed. "Okay, but seriously. What's going on?"

Jeremy took another deep breath and gulped.

"S-seriously. It's p-PMS."

Michael looked at him skeptically. _He still doesn't believe me... Fine, then, go look for yourself._ Jeremy pointed to the lidded trash can, where he disposed of his used pads. Michael looked at him cautiously, then leaned over to lift the lid. Jeremy had to suppress a wave of bile rising up in his throat at the smell of blood. Fist over his pursed lips, he looked down at the bed and away from Michael.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, once he had a handle on his nausea.

"What for? It's not your fault you were born with the wrong parts."

Before he knew what was happening, Jeremy was sobbing into Michael's sweatshirt.

"S-s-sorry," he hiccuped, sniffling. "I always g-get r-really emotional... When p-PMS hits..."

"'Sokay, it's okay, man," Michael murmured, gently patting his friend's back. "You don't gotta apologize."

"Th-thanks," he sniffled, pulling away and wiping his eyes.

Michael paused, then hesitantly spoke.

"Is there anything... I can do? Or..."

Jeremy thought for a moment, reaching for the box of Dramamine on the nightstand, then grinned.

"Well," he said, popping a pink tablet out of its packaging, "you _could_ stay and p-play Apocalypse of the D-Damned with me once the Dramamine s-starts working..."

"Hell yeah! Sounds like a plan, man!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> babychawlie wanted more...  
> SO HERE'S MORE

"Ohhhh, _frick."_

Jeremy stood in front of a grocery store shelf, in the supplements aisle. He stared with unmistakable dread at the little sign which occupied the space usually filled with bottles of evening primrose oil. _We apologize for any inconvenience, but we no longer carry this product._ He slowly sank to his knees, hands in his hair, utterly distraught. _Nooo, nononononooo, gosh freaking dangit... Shit, I'm gonna start missing school again, and PMS is gonna make my life a living hell four days a month, ohhh, freaking crap._ He leaned forward so his forehead was against the shelf and groaned loudly.

"Craaaaahahahahahap..."

"Jere? That you over there?" a familiar voice called from the next aisle over. Jeremy stumbled to his feet.

"M-Mikey!! They stopped c-carrying the p-primrose oil... What am I g-gonna do?!"  
Michael's friendly face appeared at the end of the aisle. He hurried over to his Player 2 and wrapped a consoling arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, man, it'll be okay... I'm sure there's other stores that sell it."

"Y-yeah, there are, b-but they're all f-freakishly expensive! You could g-get a bottle of 100 500-milligram softgels here f-for $7... Everywhere else, it's, l-like, $15!"

"Fifteen fucking dollars!? Jesus Christ!!"

"I know," Jeremy moaned, falling to his knees dramatically, clutching onto Michael for support.

"Have you looked online?"

"Ordering s-supplements online? That's k-kind of a weird thought."

"Well, you could. I bet there's someplace online that sells it for cheaper than it was here!" he said, giving his friend a reassuring smile. Jeremy smiled weakly back.

"Th-thanks a m-million, Michael... Jegus, what d-did I do to deserve you, again?"

"Uhh, I dunno, exist?" Michael grinned. "Soul bros, eh? Meant to be together!"

"H-heck yeah."


	3. Mens Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy is having a Hard Time as usual. But it's okay, cause Michael's always there for him with a grilled cheese and some good punny humor.

Jeremy gritted his teeth as he became conscious of the pain. It would be hard to think for the rest of the day. Dammit.

He surreptitiously slipped an ibuprofen from the bottle in his backpack at his feet, and, making a face, swallowed it dry. _That should help a bit._

His phone vibrated gently in his pocket and he slipped it out beneath the desk.

_Hello darling_

He stared at the screen, until—

_Pff jkjk_

_You okay tho? You seemed a little... Off this morn_

_idk i forgot the evening primrose oil for the last two days_

_might be getting a little crampy_

_Ohh_

_If you want I can run you home @ lunch._

_Take care of yourself jere_

He smiled weakly and started typing _“thanks. you're the best,,”_ but was soon interrupted by another new message.

_And pay attn!! You're in class!_

_look whos talking_

_Hmm touché_

.•∴✬•✩•✬∴•.

Jeremy limped out of History and quickly encountered a warm, supportive pair of arms.

“Hey, you okay?”

He laughed drily.

“D-do I _look_ okay?”

Michael frowned as they made their way out to his car.

“Let’s just get you home, hm? We’ll have your dad call the office, so we don't have to go to the nurse.” He decided not to add, _“and get asked uncomfortable questions ’cause of the... The thing.”_

Jeremy simply grunted affirmatively; the pain was taking up too much of his conscious mind for him to be able to compose a coherent response.

As soon as they were behind a row of cars, Michael glanced around self-consciously.

“Uh— D-d'you want me to carry you the rest of the way to the car?”

Jeremy was incapable of thinking through the pain at this point. He couldn't stay on his feet once he stopped moving. Michael quickly scooped him up as his knees began to buckle.

“It-it _hurts,”_ the distraught teen whimpered. A familiar feeling of helplessness filled Michael's chest as he jogged back to his car, holding his miserable best friend close.

“You’re alright, man... It'll pass, it'll pass, you know that...”

Jeremy simply groaned and tightened his grip on Michael’s sweatshirt.

After depositing his best friend—his crush—his—his—he didn't even know anymore, dammit.

After depositing Jeremy in the passenger seat of his car, gently detaching the pale hands from his sweatshirt, seating himself on the driver’s side, and turning the key in the ignition, Michael took the trip to the Heere house at the speed limit.

Jeremy was barely lucid by the time they got there. All that was coming from his throat was pained whimpering.

“Hey, you’re okay, I’ve gotcha...” He didn't even know what was making him produce the low, soothing monologue; it was simply instinctual. He didn't fully realize what exactly he was saying. “It’s alright, look, we’re almost back to your bed. You’ll be comfy soon, it's alright.”

As soon as the front door was unlocked and open, he hurried in and swung it shut behind him with his foot.

*

By the time Jeremy was lying down under the blankets and duly attended to, Michael felt stressed out enough to warrant sitting down and taking a heave from a glass of ice water. He watched the other boy from the desk chair.

Time passed. Jeremy began to relax from his agonized fetal position as the ibuprofen Michael had forced into him began to work. His body, exhausted from the pain, sent him straight to sleep.

Once he was sure the smaller teen was asleep, Michael jogged out to his car to get their backpacks. As an afterthought, he grabbed his uke from the backseat.

°

Having dropped the two bags on the floor, he sat back down in the desk chair and unpacked his ukulele. He glanced back over at Jeremy one more time before beginning to softly play an improvised, tropical-sounding lullaby.

He didn't notice when Jeremy shifted slightly beneath the covers. Nor when his eyelids twitched and a tiny smile appeared on his lips. He had woken up to Michael playing a musical instrument, which was one of his favorite sounds in the world—second only to Michael's singing.

Michael was such a _dream._ He was an awesome best friend in every possible way, and he was so cute. And talented. And... Jeremy’s best friend. Meaning Jeremy had everything to lose by saying “I love you, bro. Like, yes homo.”

The music trailed off and Jeremy heard the chair creak as Michael stood and the hollow _tung_ as the ukulele was set down on the desk. He instinctively pretended to be sleeping when Michael's hand brushed against his cheek and his warm breath was suddenly quite tangibly close.

“You still asleep, Jere-Bear?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Jeremy gave no signal that he was, in fact, awake, and Michael's hand eventually shifted. He was just prepared to relax again when an unfamiliar, warm touch briefly graced his forehead.

_Did he just... Kiss me?_

“Sleep well, you.”

Michael began to retract his hand, but some instinct made Jeremy latch onto it before it was out of reach. The lanky teen, still feigning sleep, heard a resigned sigh.

“Oh, alright. You’re so...” The comfortingly familiar voice trailed off. “...sweet dreams, Miah.”

.•∴✬•✩•✬∴•.

Jeremy woke up to the feeling of Michael's hand leaving his. He yawned, looking around, and spotted his friend smiling at him from the doorway.

“Yo, Sleeping Beauty. You up?”

“Shut up!” he laughed, sitting up and throwing the covers aside. “Wh-what time is it?”

“Uh, its—” Michael checked his watch. “It’s four-thirty. We got back here at, like, one-forty-five, so you haven't been out long.”

“Hmm, I g-guess.” He stood, stretching, and glanced at their backpacks. “I’m hungry.”

“So’m I. C’mon, I was actually just about to go make a grilled cheese.”

“C-cool.”

They walked to the kitchen together, and the smaller pulled a chair from the dining table to the kitchen to sit at while Michael worked his food magic.

“You feelin' better?” Michael asked conversationally.

“Yeah. Th-thanks a lot, m-man. I dunno what I'd do w-without you.”

“D’aww,” Michael cooed. “Same!”

Jeremy laughed, although he knew both of them meant what they'd said. That went unsaid, however.

 _He's so nice, bringing me home and tending to me and making food when I get bad PMS... I didn't even trust him enough to tell him I’m trans until a few months ago... I guess I just... Didn't want him to see my weakness. I hate having to deal with this!_ He squirmed slightly where he sat, pulling his shirt down his legs a bit. _I hate how helpless it makes me. And I hate how dysphoric it makes me!!_

Michael glanced over at his friend. _He looks so uncomfortable..._ Jeremy was staring at the tiled floor, huddled on the chair with his knees to his chest.

“You okay?”

Jeremy looked up. He hesitated for a moment, then glanced away and spoke.

“I-I... I just... I hate... I h-hate the dysphoria that c-comes with my p-period. It-it’s just...”

Michael transferred the grilled cheese from the stovetop to a plate on the counter. Offering Jeremy the plate, he smiled.

“Hey, come on, bro. Just remember, it's not mens _trual_ pain. It's _mens_ pain. Hm?”

A smile slowly crept onto Jeremy’s face, and he unfolded himself, stood up, and hugged his best friend.

“Th-thanks.” He stepped back and accepted the food. “For this, t-too.”

“'Course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from the original Google Doc:
> 
> *Hmmm future me, if this seems like an unrealistic level of pain, just remember that time when they literally had to wheel you out of school in a wheelchair because your cramps were so bad  
> Another note to self: stop beginning sentences with the phrase “as soon as.” Go consult a thesaurus.  
> Update: phrasal thesauri seem to be unusual. Will require more digging.
> 
> °Headcanon that Michael carries a uke with him wherever he goes cause his guitar is too big to be convenient but he wants to have a musical instrument with him all the time  
> (I carry a recorder with me everywhere)  
> (hhh self-projection is everywhere in my writing)
> 
> ——————————>
> 
> HEYO! Damn, Nova! Back at it again with the hurt/comfort!  
> Okay, but really. So, what happened here was that I started realizing what form this fic will take. It's gonna be slow-burn. Jeremy is starting out with platonic feelings for Michael, and Michael might maybe possibly have a tiny crush that he's barely admitted to himself. And, we'll just... See where it goes from here. I might expand the theme of "it's not your fault" to mental illness with both of them, rather than just gender shit with Jere. We'll see.  
> Arigh, I'm out! See you next chapter! Ily!!


End file.
